Knights of the Round Table
by darkmagic-luvr
Summary: This is a collection of stories based off the Knights mentioned in the title. Spoiler's through the Fisher King obviously as well as Season2. The character's these fic's revolve around so far are: JJ, RiedElle, and Hotch. Comment for more.
1. Morgan le Fay

**Title**: Morgan le Fay  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds nor King Aurther and the Knights of the Round Table, just in case you were wondering.  
**Backstory for Morgan le Fay:** The modern image of Morgan is often that of a villain: a seductive, megalomaniacal sorceress who wishes to overthrow Arthur...however, some adopted Morgan as a representation of female power.  
**Author's Note:** I don't like JJ. She bother's me. However, I do enjoy writing her for some reason. This has spoiler's for s2. This is basically what I think what happens to JJ after those dogs attack her, and the term for it is cynophobia.

* * *

Jennifer never felt like one of the guys. She did what she was told, she went without question, and sometimes she got hurt and she didn't know what the hell to do. It wasn't always bad things however, sometimes she got to flirt, sometimes she got to do her job correctly. It wasn't always bad, except when she thought she was going insane.

Like when she heard dogs barking. It didn't use to bother her so much, except now whenever she heard them, she would freeze, black out, stop breathing- it didn't matter- she'd have a panic attack. And she would always have to go back to thinking of _those_ dogs. The ones she had to kill.

Thinking about it now made Jennifer's throat close up. It was nauseating and a dizzying experience that she never thought she'd be able to go threw, but she did. It literally made her wake up at night screaming. Sometimes she'd have to take a break in the middle of a case and sit on the bathroom floor, drenched in sweat, trying to control her breathing, and trying to stop vomiting. The first time Emily walked in on her mid-panic attack, she just stopped and stared.

Jennifer didn't blame her. She didn't blame Penelope either. She blamed herself after she screamed at them over the phone after work, shouting things that didn't even make sense to her. After her outbursts (as she like to call them kindly) she would sit on her couch in a ball, and bite the skin on her thumb.

She would get cold and turn off the air and sweat and heat would fill her apartment. It would be a mixture of cold and sweat and Jennifer would strip off her clothes, her hands shaking as she ran her hands over the scars on her arms that she didn't let anyone see. The hair on her arms would raise and she'd feel some sort of prickling on her neck that would make her scream and press further into her couch.

And there was nothing she could do about the attacks. Because in her mind, they were real. They were _real_ attacks; she could see the dogs and smell their saliva and feel their eyes _burn_ into her stomach and her throat. It was those kinds of thought that kept her up at night staring at the floor, rocking back and forth, trying to pretend that it wasn't real.

And then the phone would ring and she would grab her gun off the coffee table that she didn't remember putting there. Jennifer would scream as the tears she hadn't shed yet came falling out of her eyes.

"JJ," she would say soft and hoarse into the receiver and it would always be Hotch on the other line, saying something emotionlessly and relative to work. "I'll be in as soon as I can," she would always reply back, slamming her phone shut and dropping her head in between her knees and shaking.

"How's she doing?" Gideon asked Hotch, sitting down next to the younger man who had been keeping tabs on JJ for the past few weeks.

"She isn't doing well, but she's covering up well enough."

"Handling better than Elle?"

"Elle killed a man, Gideon," said Hotch, looking back down at the table, rearranging files for their next briefing. Gideon didn't reply to that, just kept his eyes glued on Hotch with that...stare of his. Hotch gave into the stare and closed his eyes, willing Gideon to look away. "JJ isn't going to ask for help. She's going to work herself to death, sleep with her co-workers, drink herself into insomnia and manage to never seek help. She's not going to care soon Gideon."

"You're worried?"

"I'm not worried. I'm concerned."

"You know," began Gideon, finally blinking and looking away from Hotch's back. "They both lead to the same thing."

"What's that?" asked Hotch, turning his head to watch Gideon leave the room. He paused by the door and looked across the bull pin at JJ on the other side, pretending to laugh at something clever Morgan had said.

"Pitty."


	2. Percival and Blachefluer

**Title:** Percival and Blanchefleur  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds nor the Knights of the Round Table, incase you were wondering.  
**Backstory**: Percy and Fleur (as I'll call them for short) were sweethearts (which sounds corney), but the character's discribe both of them and generally fuels my ship. You don't have to take it that way however.  
**Author's Notes:** This is Reid and Elle having a conversation. I ship Elle/Ried, but this doesn't have to be a shippy fic, could just be a friend fic. There are spoiler's all through Season 2

* * *

Reid was sitting with his back to Elle, shifting through the stack of mail on his counter, ignoring her presence entirely as he tried to concentrate. Elle walked up behind him, her heels clicking against the hard wood floor of Reid's apartment, stopping at his shoulder and looking at his mail. 

"Do you ever come home?" asked Elle in amusement, making Reid jump. He cleared his throat and dropped the letters he was holding back onto the counter. Reid turned his head slightly to look at Elle and frowned at her.

"Of course I do," he said.

"Okay," said Elle, the tone of her voice telling him that she didn't believe him.

"I do."

"I believe you," said Elle. "And to show how much I believe you, I'm gonna go raid your cupboards."

"For what?" asked Reid, turning with Elle as she walked around him into his kitchen.

"Alcohol," she said, standing on her toes so she could open his cupboard. Her shirt rode up a bit, showing off pale skin and what looked like lace underwear. Reid focused back on his mail while Elle continued talking. "Alcohol, because every good insomniac needs a bottle of cheap booze to get to sleep at night."

"I don't drink much," said Reid, turning a piece of mail over in his hands and tossing it aside. Elle sighed and settled back onto her heels with a half empty bottle of gin in her hands and a smirk on her face.

"Of course you don't," said Elle, placing the bottle loudly in front of Reid and cocking her head to the side. "Should you be amused by how I found this in there? Or is it just me?"

"Like I said, I don't drink much."

"Mmmhmm," Elle turned her back on Reid again and went searching through his cupboards again. Reid looked at her again and quirked an eyebrow in annoyance.

"Now what are you looking for?"

"Glasses."

"On your left," said Reid, picking up another envelope, with handwriting he recognized. Turning it over and opening it carefully, he read what he mother had written him.

"Who's that from?" asked Elle, setting down two glasses and unscrewing the gin bottle. Reid finished reading his letter and tapped it a few times in the palm of his hand before answering her with a shrug. "You don't know who it's from?"

Elle sighed, reaching across the counter and plucking the letter from out of Reid's hands, scanning the piece of paper before Reid had even registered that she'd taken it.

"What the- hey!"

"Shh, shh," soothed Elle, swatting away Reid's outstretched hand. "Reid, this is cute. Who sent this?"

"My mother," said Reid, snatching the paper from Elle's hands and stuffing it in his coat pocket. "She likes to fantasize."

"She called you Sir Percival," said Elle with a frown. "Didn't Garner call-"

"He knew a lot about me," said Reid. "I don't want to talk about him."

"If anyone doesn't want to talk about him, it's me," said Elle, picking up the bottle of gin and pouring some of the liquid into the glass. She forced the glass into Reid's hand and poured a little more for herself. "But I'll talk if you do."

"What's there to talk about?" asked Reid.

"Lots, Reid," said Elle, taking a drink from her glass. "And you have to talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about, Elle," said Reid. "That's all."

"You don't trust me do you?" asked Elle. "You don't think I can keep a secret. _You_ can't keep a secret. You tell your mother."

"That's not fair-"

"Did you tell your mother were I lived?" asked Elle. Reid didn't say anything, copied Elle by taking a drink of liquor and balking. "I wont be mad, I just want to know."

"Yes," said Reid, dropping his glass onto his counter. "I told her all about you. She seems to like you the best. Calls you Blanchefluer."

"I wish I could have met her while she was here," said Elle softly, picking up her glass again and ignoring the last part of Reid's sentence.

"She would have liked you."


	3. Sir Galahad

**Title:** Sir Galahad  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds nor the Knights of the Round Table, just incase you were wondering.  
**Backstory:** Galahad as a character seems inhuman. He defeats rival knights apparently without effort, speaks little to his fellow knights, and leads his companions to the Grail with a relentless determination.  
**Author's Note:** This was written in August, _before_ Haley left Aarron. I _so_ called it. Just not the right way.

* * *

Aaron pulled into his drive way at about 11 p.m. It wasn't an odd time for him to be getting home, and if he was lucky Haley would still be up watching some late night tv show. Aaron turned off his car and sat in the darkness of his car for a while, waiting for something to happen. He wouldn't be surprised if something happened. Something usually did happened whenever he was feeling cheerful or refreshed or good. Hell, shit happened when he was in a bad mood too.

He just figured that if he gave a fuck, things would happen. That's why he never felt much towards anything. It was easier not to care. Aaron sighed and let his hands remain on the wheel, tightening a bit against the leather. He closed his eyes and let his forehead fall against the wheel, an aching feeling (the start of a migraine most likely) forming in the back of his head.

Aaron banged his head against the wheel a few times, jumping when the horn honked. Something on his belt loop vibrated against him and he hoped that it was work. He hoped someone was dead and he had to come in and avoid Haley's looks, her questions about why he was just sitting in his car for a half hour before he realized he was home and decided to come in. Maybe there was a cerial killer on the loose and he could avoid Haley's burning stare and sad eyes, telling him (more like asking him pitifully) if he wanted to talk.

Maybe one of his agents were dead. That would qualify nothing from Haley. No explanation at all. It was a sick and disturbing thought, but he'd rather Reid or JJ were dead than to talk about divorce with Haley again.

Again. That was what driving him mad. Haley wanted to get divorced because he was distant and 'dangerous'. He wasn't distant, he was just...disturbed.

Aaron flintched as the vibration on his belt turned into a shrill ringing, answering his cell with an awkward flip of the wrist.

"Hotch," he muttered into the dark, leaning back in his seat and dropping his head back against the headrest.

"_Hotch, it's Gideon. There's-"_

"Someone killed some people and now we get to be the heroes. I know. I'm on my way back to Quontico now."

"_Tell Haley I'm sorry."_

"I will," said Aaron, closing his phone, listening to it snap shut and turning his car back on.

He listened to the radio turn back on with a snap of static as he back out of the driveway. Aaron glanced back at his house for a second and nearly froze, feeling his heart stop as he saw the curtain flutter open. Haley stared at him as he rolled out of the driveway, his headlight flashing across her face as he backed up.

"I'm sorry, Haley," said Aaron out loud, turning his phone off and turning his car around. He glanced into his rearview mirror as he drove off, his knuckles going slightly white as his hands clenched against the wheel. "But I don't need you anymore."


End file.
